


His Own Warfare

by LaconicTerm



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alan Turing is also here., F/M, God Save The King!, Hut 8 in Bletchley Park is here!, MOLLCROFT it is., Mycroft is still the British Government, Nazi Regime, United Kingdom and Dominions of British Commonwealth, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:06:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaconicTerm/pseuds/LaconicTerm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took a deep breath and entered the conference room.</p><p>This is war..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a Mollcroft one.
> 
> I just can't get this out of my nerve after writing for pl... no worries, I've still got my head with A Game Of Chess.
> 
> Simply inspired by the World War II, then the Enigma, the Polish Bombe, Alan Turing and his version of Bombe and his codes.
> 
> I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.
> 
> STILL UN-BETAD
> 
> Let me be informed if you like this fanfic.

Shivers from the cold air awake him from his reverie, then finding himself nakedly standing in front of his closed shower faucet above his tub.

 

**_You have to start early._ **

**_Don't let the King down._ **

 

He left his place and started drying himself, then walking towards the closet.

 

**_King George VI has his honour trusted upon you._ **

 

Then he chose his navy blue suit.

 

It was the dawn of the 16th day of September 1938, where the air had been quite chilly due to the raised humidity of autumn in the Northern Hemisphere. There was this silence that this man loved the most. The silence where there are no marches being drawn by patrolling armies that the Minister had administered near his domain, as if there'd be any harmful substance getting under his skin with his wire-barred, high-concrete wall surrounding his land and heavily guarded household. His place almost looked like a mansion in the middle of a war with barracks, and somehow near the future, he might as well get his own collection of artillery with cannons, catapults and fire shells— ready to fire, to kill the Minister's overly dramatic improvements to the armory.

 

Neither could he monish the man, if he were to be on his shoes, he'd be doing the same thing. It is just _the only way_ to reprieve his people from the empire that they had built.

 

 _This wasn't even a joke_ , and if so, how he pray to the Creator that could someone please slap him hard that he'd get back to his consciousness, get himself far from the terror that the fascist global enemy had retorted.

 

**_BUT IT WASN’T JUST LIKE THAT._ **

 

It was a horrifying statement, an ultimatum wherein Germany would send nuclear bombs to the Domain if they wouldn't surrender. Of course, losing your kingdom did mortify the King of United Kingdom and Dominions of the British Commonwealth, seeing your family's legacy, your thirteen -year old daughter, Elizabeth II, who will soon be reigned queen after your death, and the little nine-year old princess Margaret Rose who had just celebrated her birthday nearly a month ago in Windsor Castle, all fall down upon your hands— that pierces sentimental people's hearts, especially a father. Perhaps a sole part of the King's ego will hunt him down, ghosting him that he should have conformed to the advice of the Parliament to evacuate his family to Canada. But he never did.

 

The statement was initially all in cryptic message from the German Enigma issued on 1934, which meant that it could be deciphered using the translation made by the Polish Cipher Bureau's military intelligence mathematicians who reverse-engineered the machine; however, what petrified them more were the next messages.

 

One thing's certain; the Nazi used the Enigma cipher in creating the encrypted messages, but the lights and characters are much more difficult, and never yielding an understandable word. Stating the common would identify D bulb as A, but it was never as simple as that— **_it was complex._**

 

 ** _The trial-and-error technique was even useless._** They needed cryptographers and mathematicians from Poland, or send themselves to Warsaw, Poland. He needed to make a decision, a move, as fast as he could, or else ** _he'd be a disappointment to his mummy, his country, the King, and to his brother._**

 

**_Fast and accurate._ **

 

**It was all just yesterday.**

 

**_What they have now is today._ **

 

He took a deep breath and entered the conference room.

 

**This is war...**

 

The door banged revealing the members of the Parliament, sharing small talks and some, discussing possible solutions and strategic orders they would be making. Upon hearing the source of the noise, they all stood and refrain from what they are doing, and then turned to look at him, vowing their heads to recognize his presence. He returned the acknowledgment with a nod and continued to walk towards his seat when a dressed woman approached him and said,

 

"A pleasant morning to you, **Sir Mycroft Holmes**."


	2. The Making of the Countermeasures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sherlock, what shall I do?" Mycroft asked himself for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UNBETAD
> 
> I still don't own anything in here.
> 
> and I have nothing against the Parliament, or the past and present Prime Ministers of the United Kingdom

"Mycroft, why don't we talk to the natives, perhaps ask for their volunteerism to patrol around the city and the agricultural lands?" The fat bloke asked him who was now standing unto his feet, so that everyone could capture him.

 

The group of leaders is now settled in their own seats, as they think of the possible moves that the British Empire could create within their reaches. They were all members of the parliamentary system; thus they are the ones responsible over the rules, and the laws governing the Nation, and truth be told, the Minister is just their puppet, his puppet. Above all, influence and manipulation make the whole world rounded— and ** _it is his game_**. Hence, **he is the government.**

 

"Mister Clive, we could not afford to do that. As much as the country does need to upgrade and improve its military forces, we shouldn't be leaving the fact that the Great Depression is now plaguing our cross-nations. We must be stable economically— through agricultural measures we could supply more goods to the global market for them to consume— with that we could easily maintain our relationship with our Allied nations in order to improve our armory." He answered the man, which gained a loud conformance with the other members.

 

"Yes, sir. But how could we be able to do so?" Adam Holden questioned. The man was relatively muscular and tall with his golden curls brushed up from the edges. He was actually the newest member of the Parliament, and served once for the preceding monarch, King Edward VIII in 1936 as one of his political advisers who advised him not to marry the divorced American Willis Simpson together with the Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin; however, the King seemed to never hear a word and continue to marry the woman, leaving the crown for his younger brother, George. Also, with the help of the Minister's influence, Holden had victoriously made a position out of himself in the Parliament in the late 1937.

 

"Do what really?" Patrick Henderson asked, aching his head for such a vague question being presented by a must-be rational and logical member.

 

"I mean, to... **_To defeat the Third Reich_**?"

 

"I believe it is not that quite hard to think of such absurdity." The eldest member from Wales, Seville Lewis interjected while giving his most sarcastic smirk that all the members believed to be a joke, yet for a newly added member, it may seem to be a display of annoyance. This earned him a great laughter from the members and a hint of heat arising from Mister Holden’s temper.

 

Mycroft retorted with a cough escaping his lips and uttered, "I hate to intrude you all, but we must never forget, that it is the reason we aim for. And for the sake of the new member's question, I'd answer it, though it seemed to be obvious enough." He leaned back and started, **_"How could a rat threaten a cat in order to get the cheese that he wanted?"_**

 

"Are we to talk rhetorics again, Mister Holmes?" Henderson asked, his frown worsening his pout.

 

"Thank you Henderson, for such a wonderful answer." The old Lewis muttered and looked perilously towards the previous voice's direction, directly at Henderson's jet black eyes.

 

"What?" His jet black eyes sparkling innocently.

 

"Okay Parliament people, enough." The lady in a 20th century fashion said, clapping her hands upon the air, "I believe Mister Holmes has a lot to say. We have never finished the agenda of this meeting. Sir, please continue."

 

"Thank you Anthea. As I was saying, there are two ways that a rat could threaten a cat. First strategy is to provide a trap for the silly being, perhaps a food, then eliminate him so that one could celebrate with mirth with his new found glory. The second is, the rat could lure the cat to a bigger, much better breed of dog, then find his own way back to where the cheese is and eat it peacefully. Any of those could be done; however, I would not recommend doing the first one, _balance of probabilities_. That first strategy would require a much more effort and energy than what is the usual— and what if the energy you had exerted is quite lacking? What would you get? **Defeat**. Moreover, there is an even chances in which it would end in failure, or glory—all depending upon fortune, which is untrustworthy." Mycroft then sat himself upright and clasp his hands under his shaven lower jaw. "I would recommend the second one. And that is the principle of countermeasures. And we'll be having that now. Anthea, the papers."

 

Anthea prepared three papers clipped above each of the members space, then turned to her boss, giving him one of the copies.

 

"What are these Mister Holmes?"

 

"The first page, herein written the letter from the Nazi Germany, decrypted from their Enigma rotor by the SIS. It states that the Axis would continuously increase their power and authority over most of the European countries, extending and taking charge over Amsterdam. It also says that they will be declaring war and threatened to drop a nuclear bomb not unless, the British Isles and the Allied forces will surrender to the Fuhrer." Mycroft stood then roam in circles with the papers in his hand.

 

"Kindly turn your paper to the last two pages." Then the members abide by his order.

 

"Those are encrypted messages."

 

"What does each say?" Andrew Clive asked.

 

"That of we are incognizant." Mycroft answered with his thin lips curved into a smile.

 

"Then how could we do and create countermeasures if we are unaware of what they're having against us, these coded messages— what if these are clues that direct us to them, to their weaknesses, how could we?" Clive questioned him again.

 

"A good point, Mister Clive. We should perhaps talk to the native mathematicians and cryptographers of Government Code and Cypher School." Mycroft suggested to the Parliament which furrowed the brows of the gentleman in brown, named Damian Walter. "You hate the idea?"

 

"No.  Not at all Sir. It's just if we were to let them break the Enigma— it might take them time."

 

"Everything takes time Walter. How about you, could you break it yourself in a minute or so?"

 

"No sir Lewis. Of course I couldn't. My apologies." Walter held his head down, vowing to the old man in a charcoal suit and a wheelchair. "Mister Holmes, if we were to coordinate with the GC&CS, let me know. I'd be willing to offer my hand."

 

Mycroft nodded his head as an affirmation, when Holden interrupted the seconds of silence with his highly pitched voice, "I do happen to know Dilly Knox, their senior code breaker. I could inform him about these plans."

 

"Yes, do as you please. Arrange a meeting with him as soon as possible. Build a team, kindly ensure to include Dr. Alan Mathison Turing in the group, let him lead, keep them guarded at Hut 8, Bletchley Park."

 

"Yes Mister Holmes." Holden made a mental note to do his chores.

 

"Anything else? If none, then this meeting is adjourned."

 

Mycroft let his mask fall out of its place.

 

Sherlock, what shall I do?


	3. A Chess Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We have to save one of our chess pieces." Mycroft turned around and placed his scotch glass above the large table then sat himself on his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still un-betad
> 
> I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK.  
> I DO NOT OWN THE GOVERNMENT.  
> I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST ANYONE, especially the Bishops of the Church of England.

**"Anthea, how is Sherlock?"**

 

"He's all fine sir. Still in Norway, and I believe as what some of our undercover units had reported, he has been travelling within the borders of Sweden and Norway every other day." Anthea answered her boss who was now having his scotch while his profile faced directly at the glass paneled window of the conference room.

 

William Sherlock Scott Holmes is his younger brother, who had _disappeared out of the blue_. If you get to ask any member of the parliament who is closely related to the Holmes household, they will of course, know Sherlock; his contributions to the government are quite immeasurable, and his disappearance has become national issue. These people, \they don't even have a clue on where the younger Holmes is; perhaps, some would have thought he's dead due to suicide or what, but they're unaware that the man was exiled to Norway.

 

Mycroft exiled his brother to Norway, a neutral country between the Allied and Axis groups, due to a murder case he had initiated when he was under the possession of opiates and nicotine—to teach him a lesson, and of course, to keep him safe within the boundaries of mountains and seas. What would a man say when they found out that the great Sherlock Holmes, who always had his face bust on the news because of his legendary skills in deducing criminals and being able to extract the truth out of a crime scene without any serum, happened to be an addict and a murderer, thus needs to be convicted. So the brother needed to do what is needed, seek his exile to a neutral country with a Scandinavian atmosphere, but it wasn't seemed to be safe anymore.

 

"Send him a telegram, informing that he has to be back home for work. You have to escort him."

 

"Why sir?" Anthea looked at the man quizzically

 

"Don't you want to practice your Bokmål? Seek the help of General Gregory Lestrade?" Mycroft looked at his scotch glass which he elevated with his right hand, his face plastered with a grin. He could see the reflection of his background and the frown of the woman.

 

"Oslo, Norway will never be safe again; probably two years from now, the SS generals will surprise them in an attack. We'll never know. We have to save one of our chess pieces." Mycroft turned around and placed his scotch glass above the large table then sat himself on his seat.

 

**_What are you baking, Mycroft?_ **

 

"Yes, sir." Anthea walked towards the closed doors of the room, seeking an escape.

 

╚╗╔╝

 

 **"Yes! I did it!** Oh my god, I can't believe it. I defeated the ever great and stoic Sherlock Scott!" The little Scandinavian-English girl in overalls wiggled and hopped around the man in a white dress shirt and brown waistcoat.

 

They were settled in a long log of wood by the river side with a small pile of wood that served as a small table.

 

"Calm down Maplewood girl. I wasn't even aware that we're playing chess... And, you cheated. Your hands?" Sherlock asked the little girl as he snapped out of his mind palace.

 

Maples then showed her right small pinkish palm to the skinny man, revealing two white chess pieces, his queen and one of his bishops.

 

"Sorry, I have Cyril." Believe him or not, it was the chess piece which he loved the most, named it after the Bishop of Winchester, one of his brother's colleague out of the five Lords Spiritual, and one of the 26 bishops in the Parliament. The Bishop was one of his family's closest friends. Actually, he was the one who had advised his mother to let him depart to Norway— with a reason of addiction, only, and unaware of the murder.

 

_How he loved that man._

_How sweet that he named the white Bishop chess piece after him. And had curved a great scar on its body, marking him._

 

_And how that little announcement of the Bishop's name **made him giggle with irritation.**_

 

**Oh. Do you know how much I want to snap your head off of your body, and throw your remains to the river of Styx?**

 

"Sherlock's annoyed... I just hope I could photograph your face, but I can't. Only those honorable men, families are allowed to, and prices for films are quite high for such a big photographic camera. How horrible! If I were the Queen of Sweden, I will produce more of it, making it available for small people like us!" The little kid shared her ideals which made the man laugh, horridly.

 

"Photographs must be formal. You know that Maples." A woman in her early thirties answered the little kid. Her long brunette hair tied up in a bun with a ribbon of red. She's all wearing her blue dress extending up to her mid-knees, her hands occupied by the glasses of water on a plate-shaped tray.

 

"Doctor Molly!" Maples ran towards the petite woman with Sherlock's head flew turned towards her direction and nodded his head. She smiled with that silly recognition and lower down the tray to the small table.

 

"Hello dear. How are you feeling?" Molly asked the lady as she dropped her knees and held her casted left arm.

 

"It's fine, I'm fine. I defeated Sherlock with a chess game. Finally! Do you manage to know how happy I am? Hmm, Molly?"

 

"I could see that, young girl." Molly retorted, looking over Sherlock and spoke, "You... Sherlock, How about you?"

 

"It's just a matter of one point, still leading with 42; besides, the girl under your custody cheated so it's not considered to be counted." Sherlock uttered.

 

"Fine." Molly accepted his reason and smiled at the figure who was arguing with the little girl.

 

"And as for my obvious answer with your silly question, I'm good; the drugs are starting to get out of my system. As a matter of fact, your methods are universally acceptable, used by all rehabilitations, worldwide; minus the conviction of seven years— which is proven to be boring." The man said with his clenched jaw and eyes boring over the lady's.

 

"No, you're not. I could see." Molly said sitting a feet far from him. "Could I fish?" Maples asked her and then nodded, making her way far from the pair.

 

"I could see that you're sad and bored whenever you are here. You wanted something, you're longing. Tell me Sherlock, how were you like in London?"

 

"What are you referring to?" He asked pulling his weight over his feet, standing.

 

"You-you co...could deduce." She uttered, looking at his raised back.

 

He started to walk with two and halted at the sudden words that slipped out from the woman's lips. "Yes, Molly. I could deduce."

 

And that's my work.

 

╚╗╔╝

 

"Sherlock Holmes?" A stranger in a tan wool trench coat revealed himself as his subject traverse to the stables, to get his mare, preparing to head back to the borders of Norway.

 

"Hmm. What does my brother have for me, this time?" He asked as he untied the rope from the wooden slab.

 

"We have received this, sir-- fastened with secrecy from the secretary of the government," the man showed him an envelope of light brown color. Of course, there is no need for him to deduce the letter, since the intention is stated and proven to be true. No one had ever knew that he was here except for Mummy, Mycroft and that secretary whom he never knew the real name, and no one ever knew that his brother is actually the government, for no one ever dared to ask.

He took the letter and looked at the man menacingly, a sort of sign that he did suspect, as well as a sign for the man to disappear.

 

Once the man had lost himself out of his way, Sherlock, himself, opened the letter, never caring whether he used a paperknife or not. As the letter revealed itself, and recognized that there wasn't even a part of it called 'secrecy', since everyone could recognize that it was a code from the 1800s period, he hid it between the lapels of his waistcoat his shirt, directly at the apex of his heart.

 

**_A Morse code._ **

 

**\- .... . / -... .-. .. - .. ... .... / .. ... .-.. . ... / -. . . -.. / -.-- --- ..- --..-- / .. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / ..-. . - -.-. .... / -.-- --- ..- / - --- -- --- .-. .-. --- .-- / -....- .-**

 

**_It's coming to get you._ **


	4. The Bishop and The Magnifier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets to bid goodbye to Molly. Neither did Molly know that she had actually gave him an idea.
> 
> Sometimes you have to wait, to hold on until it's your turn to be happy. By then, you should be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.
> 
> This is a chapter of friendship, a bit of Sherlolly, if you want.

**IT WAS THE MESSAGE** that he needed **.** He wanted for so long to feel the breeze from the English highlands, the air of artillery shells that fire, the gunpowder from the guns' mouth— those are his coquetries that arouses him, not sexually though, but through his brain activity.

 

It wasn't the first time that Mycroft had ever sent a message through the mode of a telegraphy. He had done that six times for his two years. Two for Christmas, another one for new year, one for their Mummy's birthday, and so as his birthday— with an intention of pissing him off through cutting his favorite string, the E, and as a gift, he had included a new E string for his Stradivarius violin. And the sixth was quite a surprise; he neither expected this to happen nor asked for it to occur this early. He had imagined that he may be redeemed by his brother, being a drama queen, on his point of view, will make an entrance from one of the British battleships, for two more years, months, but days, not really. But as it seems to be, _Molly undoubtedly is speaking of the truth._

 

**_I could see that you're sad and bored whenever you are here. You wanted something, you're longing._ **

 

_He longed for something._

 

**The drugs?**

 

_No... Not that._

 

**Then what?**

 

_He missed London._

 

but

 

There was this young little girl he had grew fond of, Maples; maybe it was that their family wasn't lucky enough to be blessed with a daughter, a sister, or he was just and merely being exposed to the factors that are affecting his behavior such as environment, or else— _the drugs weren't out of his system, indeed._

 

He knew all better that sentiments are disadvantages, meant to destroy— a weakness, but what is this?

 

**_Something inexplicable._ **

 

And there is this woman, who helped him, in every ways she could. She had helped him surmount substances; she had become his rehabilitation, his energy. She was the one who always motivate him, who always accept his vilifications whenever he observed and noticed something wrong or different. She is the only one who could understand him, yet there he is...always rejecting that fact.

 

 _She had never counted, never mattered_.

 

**_Perhaps, you'll never know how much a thing would worth until you lose it._ **

 

_And she deserves more… not him._

 

He knows that once he'd been back to England, there's no turning back— a one way ticket, as they say— **he could do that.**

 

Go away and never come back... Never leave any evidence of his presence. **He could do that.**

 

He could pack now, and wait until the morning, for that unnamed secretary with an initial of A to go fetch him. He could do that, yet he found himself gathering the chess board and its pieces, and taking a final look at the message.

**\- .... . / -... .-. .. - .. ... .... / .. ... .-.. . ... / -. . . -.. / -.-- --- ..- --..-- / .. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / ..-. . - -.-. .... / -.-- --- ..- / - --- -- --- .-. .-. --- .-- / -....- .-**

 

╗╚ ╝╔

 **"OH BUGGER** , **WHY IS** this happening?" Molly exclaimed as she looked at the windows, revealing the outside scenery wherein splashes and deafening sounds of rain echoed.

 

"Is Sherlock okay?"

 

"Huh? I'm sorry?" Molly asked, unable to grasp the words of the child.

 

"Sherlock's okay, isn't he?" She combed the hair of her lady doll with her own fingers.

 

"Yes, of course." Her voice slightly faltered.

 

"Are you sure Sherlock's okay, Hmm Molly, really really?" The little kid asked the woman as she played with her another ragged doll.

 

"Even if he's not, he would always find a way. Trust him, love." She then sat down on her chair and started reading the Little Women by Alcott.

 

"Okay."

 

_Trust him, Molly._

 

 

╗╚ ╝╔

 

 **THREE CAUTIOUS KNOCKS** **LANDED** on the door; of course, it wasn't from his secretary, she had departed to Norway for Sherlock, it was from a man.

 

Leather-textiled and rubber-soled tap itself against the obsidian floor, and based on the amount of pressure applied, he must be in a hurry; but wait, he'd gotten himself some company.

 

"William Chadwick, please do come in." He announced as the figure started rotating the knob.

 

╗╚ ╝╔

 

 **THE STABLE LADDER THAT** sat itself on their front porch produced a loud slamming noise as it commits contact with the wooden planked floor, which alarmed both of the bodies within the abode.

 

"Who's there?" Molly shouted as she snapped back her book and rested it on her chair. Giving a hand to Maples, she grabbed the long sawn timber she'd been hiding for security purposes in her other hand while the other strongly grasped the little one's.

 

As both bodies stepped forward having a mere inch difference from the door, she whispered to Maples, "You go turn the knob then hid at the back of my chair. You understand, love?"

 

The youngster nodded and bit her lower lip, as a sign of nervousness and stress. She carefully turned the knob, making no miserable and cracked noise, ran and hid, leaving the doctor standing on her feet, with the door's slid halfway open. Sensing that Molly was dumbfounded at the presence of someone on the other side of the door, she started muffling cries and praying to the lords of all myths and the God above to spare both of their lives, when she heard a baritone voice.

 

**_Perhaps the voice from the Heavens?_ **

 

Asking her, "Can I stay for the night?"

 

╗╚ ╝╔

 

 **"MISTER HOLMES, A SOLDIER** here would like to present himself. Wanting to discuss some war affairs, sent by Madame Smallwood." The man in a dark footman's coat said, as he slightly open the door, only revealing his head and torso.

 

"Let him in." Mycroft commanded, and then adjusted his loosely hanging tie.

 

"As you please sir." He heard soft murmuring voices at the back of the door, as the government butler spoke of his interest to the man. After a minute, the half lid-opened door fell loosely, unfolding another full body view.

 

"State yourself."

 

"Good evening Mister Holmes. I was summoned by Lady Smallwood earlier this evening, to confirm the accuracy of your plans in regard to the utilization of my army as one of your pawns to Poland." The man with a thick white hair in a military tunic, insignia like a scaled up narrow hill of mousy and a nameplate of Hooper said.

 

"I'm sorry Major General Hooper, but I have actually elucidated it to her, that it was the Field Marshalls whom she needed to talk to." Mycroft Holmes stood from his chair and looked at the old man with his devilishly smile, testing how the man would take and recover from his blow to his dignity.

 

"Sorry sir, but I may be of low office ranking; nevertheless, I am ensuring that the country that you're standing at is at least or at most safe for each step you make." The old man stood with his chest poking outside with his fingers curved in a tight fist, willing to gag the man at any time soon.

 

**_One wrong move, Mycroft._ **

 

"Oh yes. I have failed to notice your bluntness, Major, and I was taken aback. I demand to ask you, who is responsible for how this country works?" The ginger sipped a taste of his newly refilled scotch glass.

 

**_Relax. What?_ **

 

"The government, sir."

 

For God's sake, you should have kept an eye on your temper. Mummy would always suggest to be nice even when others are not, but now you failed her.

 

**_Dear brother, what would Mummy say?_ **

_What would others say?_

 

**Better make a one swift move, and save yourself from such embarrassment.**

 

Mycroft heard the voices of his younger brothers and just managed to hmm against the glass he had been sipping. "Good, then I hereby confirm it. And I'll let this pass— however, if there will be another occurrence of any outrageous manner, then I will never reconsider, but to eliminate such improper lineage. Understand?" He added and emphasized his last word.

 

"Sir yes sir." Hooper turned his head and took his leave.

 

As the man's paces had gone, he took the handle of the telephone, and dialed an organization's secured line though the revolving body pad. Once the dial tone had started to play, and the other line accepted the call, he began, "Keep an eye on the group of Marshall Philip Anderson, especially Major General Hooper. I need a report on that person's background, drop it at the conference room, ten minutes."

 

╗╚ ╝╔

 

 **"YES, BUT YOU LOOK** pale. What happened?" Molly asked the man as she adjusted herself to let him in.

 

"Isn't it obvious Doctor Molly Hooper that I've been under a natural disaster of cats and dogs? Does that sound predicable to you?" Sherlock leaned forward and steadied himself against the door handle and realized his stupid mistake, "Sorry. I've been rude to you. And I'm clean, as you had checked it yourself."

 

"Sherlock!" Maples cried as she run towards the man and hugged him tightly in spite of his soaking wet garments. Sherlock was shocked at the sudden contact of a warm small feeling pressed on his cold, as if dying, body, making him whimper, "Mapleton, it's okay." He said as he stoke the little lady's head, then added, "I have something for you." And revealed the chess board hidden in his back, damped.

 

"Why you'd come here? Just for that— to play? That's... How unexpected of you." Molly extracted her small mousey voice from her vocal chords.

 

"I believe that I have fully inferred my purpose to you one minute and thirteen seconds ago." Sherlock scooped up the young kid and held her tightly, "Now, no more cheating, young Maples." He announced. _And off we play._

 

The young lady giggled and sang her statement, "Oh poor Sherlock, wet and cold, the man I know, will play with me, a chess for free.” She stopped and looked at the man who was holding her dearly, "Sherlock, you'll play with me forever hmm?"

 

"You cannot play forever, you know that Maples?" Molly injected her words, while closing the door, causing Sherlock to look at her and so as Maples with such question.

 

"Yes, of course, Molly... I know that but I want to defeat this man! And I want to be with him... Stay here Sherlock. Please." The kid begged with her eyes as she tightened her grip around Sherlock, never wanting to let him go.

 

"That's what I'm planning to do. Play with you, and stay here. You good with that?" He asked as he tried to walk little steps with the heavily built child in his arms, the chess board on his hand supporting the back of the lady kid, who managed to nod her head repeatedly with delight.

 

**Kids. Kids. Kids.**

 

Annoying, unadoring little monsters that tend to be disgusting sometimes, and such an unsanitary creatures from mating— of two sensual bodies, mutually bonded by hunger, lust and desires.

 

_And he hated that thought for once._

 

Nowadays, he could not actually control his brain function; he had lost his control over his emotions, his sentiments... What would Mycroft think of him now? A normal human? His tag, **'High Functioning Sociopath'** has been slipping out. _Mycroft's been laughing hard if so..._

 

**He could delete that thought.**

 

**And focus on what's with him right now, at this very moment.**

 

**_His family._ **

 

Mycroft could wait until tomorrow, by then, he could be back to the reality he had been living two years ago, the life he had yearned for and leave these people behind with their memories instilled in his heart, kept, secretly hidden in one of his rooms inside his Mind Palace.

 

**For _their_ security.**

**For _his_ security.**

 

' **The World's Only Consulting Detective, becomes Defective: His Weakness? Sentiments'**

 

He could not let that happen tomorrow. So, he'll do it now— or else, there'd be no tomorrow.

 

"I'll never win." Maples admitted to Molly, as the two started to plan their next move against the stoic man, who turned out to be busy arranging his curls.

 

Their fifth match resulted in another defeat; not the fifth match— 48th match, to be honest. It was a boring match actually, and that is a fact. Nothing beats the excitement and the fulfillment he would receive by seeing his brother, Mycroft, dies in such shame, in the eyes of England. How silly, and that he could never delete. **But this one**. A kid, not one who _acts like_ a kid. His inner self would want to let her win, yet the other says, keep winning.

 

"I thought you'd never give up." Sherlock announced as he stood from his seat and took his cuppa from the kitchen table.

 

"I'm never going to give up! I will defeat you!" The little girl retorted with her high spirits evidently shown on her pitch.

 

"Well then, shall we?"

 

╗╚ ╝╔

 

" **I WON! YES. MOLLY** , Molly, I defeated Sherly without being cheaty!" Maples giggled and hopped and made her way to Molly who was arranging the layers of bed sheets that they'd be using later. The young one jumped to the woman's arms and hugged her tightly, smiling then yawned— "I'm sleepy Molly."

 

"Mapleton." Sherlock dragged his feet towards the woman with the other carried on her arms.

 

"Hmm. Sherlock? I didn't cheat." She mumbled as Molly lulling her to sleep.

 

"I'll give this to you, your trophy. Keep him, promise me." He handed her Cyril, the white bishop that the she always hide when she wanted to annoy Sherlock.

 

She curled her hands around its neck and said, "I promise, I'll keep Cyril. No matter what happens." She knows his importance to the man, he was the one who advised the mother (who advised the brother) to be have him transported to a neutral country, tranquil him from drugs, and that she believes he was thankful of. As well as the bishop had been the reason for her to meet Sherlock, to have her life changed a bit different and a bit colorful with a simple chess game— added a bit of meaning, she believes and she sleeps.

 

"No matter what happen. I believe in you." Sherlock uttered as he slid his hand back to his pockets.

 

"She trusts you, Sherlock." Molly muttered which made him looked at her with his teeth biting his lips.

 

"I know. And you do trust me?" Sherlock asked as the woman brought the little girl to the sheets and let her have her own dream.

 

╗╚ ╝╔

 

 **TEN BLOODY GOOD MINUTES** had walked across his path, Chadwick once again knocked and slid inside the room with a folder sealed by a transparent plastic bag hanging on his arm, written on it— CONFIDENTIAL, then an inked seal from the British Army and the Coat Of Arms of the King, signed by the head of defense, _Damian Walter_.

 

"Sir. Here's the file from the Agency." He left the folder at the other end of the long table, and then took his leave.

 

Mycroft turned and walked towards the folder, extract it from its cover and walked back to his seat with the folder in hand.

 

**Edward Alexander Regan Hooper**

Date Joined: 10/03/1915

 

Archive:

1915\. 10. 03- Member-- Private

1915\. 11. 02- Reported to General Anton Daniels

1915\. 11. 04-21- Training

1915\. 12. 03- To the Western Front

1916\. 01- Medical Care

1916\. 03. 03- Reported to Field Marshall Patrick Kirkwood

1916\. 04. 01- Awarded with Merit

\- Promoted as Lieutenant by His Majesty

1916\. 05-12. 03- Forced to deportation

1917\. 03. 06- Reported to Commandant Benjamin Arden for War plans and designation

1920\. 07. 15- Successful administered his corps to the Eastern Front

1921\. 01. 07- Returned from the E. Front

1925\. 03. 14- Honored with promotion— Brigadier

1927\. 12. 24- To Italy. Sent Message to Mussolini

1928\. 01. 23- Captured

1930- Reported to the Major General Henry Downey

1934- Promoted by British Government. Major General died.

1935- Assigned to the Planning Department.

1937- Government signed his application for warfare

\- Assigned to Field Marshall Philip Anderson

 

————

 

Background:

Father: John Porter Hooper

Deceased. April 1915

Field Officer— Colonel

Chlorine Complexion

 

Mother: Lucrezia Miles Regan

Deceased. December 1917

Pedagogue

Chronic Bronchitis

 

Wife: Christine Winston Churchill

February 27, 1871

Nurse. Deceased. September 1927

18D Southampton

 

Issues:

Mary Olivia Churchill Hooper

October 13, 1906

Current Location: Gustavsfors, Sweden

Pathologist

 

Giovann Winston Churchill Hooper

January 18, 1901

Current Location: Southampton

Agricultural Worker

 

Wendy Patrice Churchill Hooper

April 23, 1914

Current Location: Southampton

Unemployed

 

——————-

 

Let him be... He's old enough.

 

Not should be another distraction, though he could check that out later.

 

For England, focus on the war.

 

╗╚ ╝╔

**"YES, I ALWAYS DO."**

 

"Molly, there's something I wanted to discuss with you." Sherlock walked back to his seat, and Molly tagging along.

 

Once Molly had settled herself at her own seat, "What is it?" She asked.

 

"I'll be leaving. Back to London." He replied, and held his face with his hand.

 

"Oh...okay?" Molly of course was shocked, but that wasn't the expression he was expecting from her. He wanted her sympathies; beg him to stay with them— but of course that won't happen.

 

**Really, you want her to do that Sherlock?**

 

 

"Finally, what you want is what you're having." Molly said smiling at the man who was now looking at her eyes, she blushed.

 

"Yes. It is. But is it what you really want for me?" Sherlock Holmes was proved to be an apathetic man, a high- functioning sociopath, as what he had researched for himself, but this moment was something— not to mention that his face had changed, there was a remorse— _remorse for himself._

 

"Uh. As long as you're happy and fulfilled, I'm happy for you, always." She said nervously and awkwardly fiddling her hands with the magnifier she had always been keeping.

 

"What is that?" Sherlock asked as he looked at her hands.

 

"A magnifier."

 

"Of course, that's a magnifier. Thank you for stating the obvious. What is that for? You always have that, even if your job never needed that. _That is useless_."

 

"This is my mother's magnifier. She's dead, and I've never had the chance to see her again in Southampton. This is the only memory I have of her." She mumbled the last words looking at it.

 

"She always says: Keep searching for the things that you are waiting for." Molly said, as far as she could remember her mother's exact words. "I think it should be: you should stop searching for it, you have to wait once sometimes, for you to matter and to count. If my mom was here, perhaps, I could correct her." She laughed.

 

"I think I will need that." He stood and looked at her, "You should sleep."

 

The mousy woman walked towards the opened door and uttered something enough for him to hear, "Just remember, Maples and I will be holding on to you." And disappeared with the lamp lights out.

 

****

**_Thank you Molly._ **

**_You always mattered._ **

**_-Sherlock_ **

 

He wrote it in a small piece of paper and left it on his vacated seat with the sun rays slightly revealing each one of their presence, illuminating it. The small table where the chess board had been present was now empty, and the magnifier she left on her bedside table gone with a swift and replaced with a nothing, her wall clock silently ticking the time— counting the days in a vibration.

 

**_Sometimes you have to wait, to hold on until it's your turn to be happy. By then, you should be happy._ **

 

**'Always.'**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now the MOLLCROFT flag is raised. I have fought for it, a series of debates with the people who are against the OTP. Glad to say, we've won.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all FOLKS!  
> Ta ta!
> 
> Let me be informed if you like this fanfic.  
> Post comments, etc., you are all welcome!


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